Photogenical

It's official. I live in Washington, DC.

Yeah, so, I have actually lived in Washington, DC since the August of 2001. But it wasn't until this morning, August 18, 2005 -- four full year later -- that I got around to changing over to a DC license.

The explanation for this is a complicated mix of conscious and subconscious forces.

The conscious would be obvious to anyone who knows me well. I can procrastinate like a motha-fuc*er. Really -- I amaze myself at how long I can put something off that really ISN'T THAT HARD (assemble the paperwork, take the metro to Judiciary Square, pull a number, fill out a form, get a new license). But just the idea of going into any DC government building makes me tense inside, because they are really ugly buildings and filled with lots of people and really bureaucratic looking, and those are not things that appeal to me.

The subconscious is that I have always been aware that getting a DC license would really and truly mean that I lived in DC. Somehow four different apartments, umpteen different places of employment, a healthy retinue of DC friends and colleagues - none of these things were as official as a new license. Keeping the old one was a way of holding on to the past (something else that anyone who knows me well knows that I am apt to do) and of holding on to New York City.

But, with fifteen days left to renew without having to take a written test (ah, ha. Yeah.) I finally got myself to the DMV.

And it really wasn't that bad. The line was long, sure, but moved pretty quickly. I made it up to the counter and handed over my two items to prove that my social security number really is mine (my actual social security card vanished years ago -- again, not a hard thing to replace, but again, requires entering government buildings...) as well as a bill for proof of address and the passport I've been carrying around for the last two months as my ID so that I can get served in bars and restaurants (which would only be necessary here in DC, where -- during intern season -- they really do proof everyone who looks like they may be under forty), took a vision test in the little viewer thing (which I am pretty positive I flubbed, but the semi-comatose DMV employee simply blinked a few times like "Hmmm, what she said is definitely not what I see..." and then said "I guess that's okay"). I then went to get my picture taken.

This was the one thing I was looking forward to.

My last license picture was the worst image of me that has ever been captured on film on this planet in this lifetime. It now officially no longer exists. They shredded it. I smiled.

I am not sure why the picture was so awful. I had gotten up early (and actually beat the lines that time) but was happy to be getting the license. It was an under the wire new license then too -- needed because I was flying out the next weekend to Utah to visit my dear friend BC. I had just turned twenty-five and was renting a car for the first time out there to drive from Las Vegas to Utah to San Francisco. I was feeling the Western frontier vibe, and was thrilled to be visiting BC.

I was twenty-five! I was a single girl! I was going to places filled with mormans and gay men!

Ironically, what finally got my butt in gear to get the license this time around is a trip I've planned to visit BC at the beach in Delaware this weekend. But more on that later. I guess the bottom line is, without BC, I would never renew my driver's licenses.

But my happiness at all those good things did not translate to the picture. That early AM in midtown NYC in August 2000 caught me looking surly, sallow and really short (I think they aimed the camera too low) so if nothing else -- this morning was a welcome opportunity to GET A NEW PICTURE.

Mission accomplished. Today's photo also strikes me as a bit odd -- I didn't think about what I was wearing so I happen to have on a pretty low-cut boatneck top. There are no embarrassing cleavage issues, but the picture does reveal a startling amount of sternum. In fact, because of where the bottom of the photo cuts off, it looks like I could possibly have sternum for miles.

That should be the name of a band. Sternum for Miles.

I am also glowing with a weird orange sheen. Like I had been eating a lot of carrots. Which isn't the case.

Still, it's an improvement. And I guess I can deal with it for the next five years.

And come 2010, I'll be really prepared. No boatnecks. No carrots. Sleep the night before. Maybe even - lip gloss.